SNAFU: Future Warfare

by Geoff Brown

  The anti-tank rounds were a tungsten slug with a hollow charge, that turned into a shaped charge on impact…striking the creature, they formed and detonated, with enough heat to melt the tungsten and fire it at supersonic speeds into the target. The six rounds struck in quick succession, each a metre or so apart, and the resultant explosions turned the creature’s torso to pulp.

  It rose up in its death throes and thrashed around uncontrollably… Kubai couldn’t maintain his grip and Hawk fell, landing heavily on its back, only to have the creature fall on top of him, its sheer weight crushing the exomech and cracking open plates of armour.

  And then it died.

  * * *

  Graves Farmstead, Tau Ceti, IV, Aftermath

  Graves, Jaswant Singh, Crazy Bill and Keith Jenkins stood outside the Bunker as the other colonists cleaned up the mess, which included cutting up and dragging away the corpse of the giant deebee.

  With a lot of families dead, there’d be room for more colonists. The Donaldsons were gone, so their farmstead was vacant land, and Peters’ wife and family had decided to leave Tau Ceti and head home to Earth, which freed up that land as well.

  They managed to drag Kubai Singh out of his exomech’s wreckage… he was still alive, but had lost both legs and an arm, and would require expensive prosthetics, which the Colony account would happily pay. Likewise, replacement exomechs for the Singhs, who had lost all three of their suits, would come from the Colony account.

  Jenkins had put in claims for damages and repairs that they all knew were ridiculous, but no-one had the energy to argue – he’d survived, that counted for something, and they needed everyone to move forward together. Jaswant Singh had suggested giving Jenkins the deeds to the Donaldson and Peters farmsteads, in exchange for his own, as payment for his efforts, and the others had reluctantly agreed – the Singhs had lost too much for them to deny any reasonable requests right now. Graves could see Jenkins mentally rubbing his hands together in glee, and it sickened him.

  The really good news was that Jake Wright had survived after all. Despite his complaints about his exomech, Carnigore had one feature no-one had counted on – it had more radiation shielding than any of them had ever seen, likely as a measure to protect patrons from radiation leaks from when it was still an amusement ride droid. It was a wreck and would need replacing, but Jake was okay.

  And that left the giant gate on the ridgeline. It lacked the sparkle that indicated an open gateway back the deebee’s home dimension, but it was still there. None of them had any idea what to do about it, other than to arm up, stay vigilant, and invest heavily in defences. It was going to be expensive and hard work, and it dawned on Graves that Jenkins new farmstead would be right in the path of any further attacks… Jaswant Singh was much wilier than he’d given him credit.

  With the creature dragged away and the other colonists gone, Graves and his wife surveyed the land they’d fought hard to defend. It never occurred to them to pack up and leave, to head to somewhere safer. This was home, and alien invasion or no, this was where they were going to stay.

  Under Calliope’s Skin

  Alan Baxter

  Andy Collins flicked his eyes to operate his virtual HUD. An adrenaline suppressant dumped into his bloodstream along with a tweak of endorphin as the Alliance Battlecruiser Belvedere fell out of jump with a bone-deep whine. He hated the inertia of re-entering real space.

  “Take a moment to message your loved ones,” Capstan barked. “We drop in three minutes.”

  The massive Lieutenant stomped from one end of the dropship to the other, enhanced musculature rippling under his form-fitting battlesuit. He paused at each team member to stare hard into their eyes, his virtual HUD relaying reams of data – pulse rate, blood pressure, serotonin levels, a hundred other markers. You couldn’t hide a thing from a party Lieutenant. When he reached Collins, Capstan stared a moment longer.

  “You okay, buttercup?” he asked, almost a whisper. His eyes were mean and his mouth pressed into a flat line as he waited for a response.

  Collins watched the golden flicker across Capstan’s eyeballs, wondered just what data he was reading. “Fine,” he said, pleased his voice was strong. “You know I hate interstellar.”

  Capstan nodded once, paused to read another roll of information. His deep forehead relaxed under a mat of salt and pepper hair shaved close. “Just as well you’re such a good soldier. Makes up for your flaws.”

  He stalked away before Collins could respond, but Collins allowed himself a smile. Capstan always acted the hardass, but he was a father to the whole squad. Though no one would ever say so to his face. He might love them all, but he’d kick seven shades out of anyone who suggested he had emotions.

  “We green, Daisy?” Capstan called out.

  “Across the board.” The dropship AI’s voice was a soft, velvety feminine.

  Capstan turned at the head of the bay and scanned the two rows of marines facing each other, four along one side, three the other.

  “We are eight of the best,” he said, smiling to reveal the chromed shine of replacement teeth. He could bite through steel with those and his jaw augments. “In fact, we are the best eight and that’s why we get sent out to these asshole shitheaps on the edge to do things no other fool would do. But this one is pretty routine, right?”

  Laughter rippled around the bay and Capstan grinned wider.

  “Fuck yeah, ain’t no such thing as routine if we’re involved. So here’s what we know, and it ain’t much.” He tapped at his wrist pad and a holographic cube sprang into life between the two rows of warriors. A small moon swelled into view, orbiting a massive gas giant. “This is Calliope,” Capstan said. “Fourth moon of the third planet in the Arteeria system. Distant scans revealed huge deposits of allerinium beneath the crust, and you don’t need me to tell you what lengths the Alliance will go to for interstellar jump fuel. So a remote unit was sent to build a habitat. Once the robots had finished, a scientific team of twenty specialists was sent in to survey. Results were good for about two months and then all communications ceased. This is the last transmission.”

  He tapped his pad again and the three-dimensional map switched to a recorded video. A face leaned close to the camera, sweat running down the brow from soaked hair. The man’s mouth was stretched in a wide grimace and his teeth were stained.

  “That blood in his mouth?” Aiko Hayashi asked, her eyes narrowed.

  “Looks like it,” Tanveer Malik said. He glanced at Hayashi with a smile. “But is it his or someone else’s?”

  She flicked him a sour look, shook her head. Collins smirked. Those two were about due their occasional hook-up. It was a good tension diffuser that otherwise saw them fighting.

  The man continued to stare and grin at the camera.

  “He gonna say anything?” Collins asked.

  Capstan shut off the image. “Nope. He stands there like that, not moving, not even fucking blinking, for three hours and fourteen minutes.”

  “The fuck?” Kirsten Watts said quietly.

  “The transmission ends with a power drop,” the Lieutenant continued. “Remote connections confirm the power was only out for a few minutes. As far as anyone can tell, the whole operation is still green. Except now there’s no response to hails and no cameras anywhere inside the station are working.”

  “So they’re sending us in,” Charlie Finlay said.

  Capstan pointed one finger at the tall, burly marine. “That’s right.”

  Finlay grinned, his teeth like Capstan’s, even brighter against sun-tanned skin. Wisps of blond hair poked from under the front edge of his helmet, an affectation that never failed to annoy Collins. “Cool,” Finlay said in a low growl.

  Collins scanned his squad mates, all buzzing with the excitement of a job about to start. He buzzed along with them, always keen for action, though the image of that sweating, staring guy with blood on his teeth gave him pause. But what threat were scientists to this team?

  Red
lights flashed and a siren wailed. “Ten seconds,” Daisy said calmly.

  “Here we go, my flowers!” Capstan shouted as he jogged to his rack and strapped in.

  The dropship detached and fell for Calliope. The display up front showed the battlecruiser disappearing away from them, then space folded around it as it jumped away to sit far from the gravitational pull of the system and await the hail to pick them up again. Collins dumped a little pick-me-up into his blood as Daisy guided them in.

  * * *

  “Locked and docked,” Daisy said. “Pressures equalised. You’re good to go.”

  “Keep the engines ticking,” Capstan said. “In case we need to facilitate a quick exit.”

  “I’ll be ready,” the dropship replied.

  The Lieutenant moved to the hatch. “Form up.”

  The squad unbuckled and arranged themselves. Capstan took the lead, flanked by Hayashi and Finlay. Behind them were Alex Lau and Malik, followed by Henna Sterns and Collins. Watts, the medic, brought up the rear.

  “All comms to closed group,” Capstan said. “Inter-squad hails only, and keep those to a minimum. Rebreathers on.”

  Full face masks slipped from their helmets and joined seamlessly to their battlesuits. As soon as the toughened flexiglass was down, Collins felt the familiar tightening of his fatigues, every tiny gap closing, contained tight against even the hint of microbial attack. The flex-armour plates in the super-tough fabric swelled and shifted into place, a form-fitting carapace with micro-gyro strength and movement assistance. He felt safe in the body-hugging outfit, the familiar weight of his pack, ammo and weapons pressing down on him, the air in his helmet lightly scented with ocean salt as it passed through the suit’s filtration system.

  “Move out!” Capstan barked.

  The hatch irised open and they jogged into the docking corridor of the scientific station. Lights were on, everything appeared normal at first glance.

  “Check the map,” Capstan said, and floor plans of the station appeared to each of them at a virtual distance of about thirty centimetres along with the rest of their HUD data. Each squad member was marked by name and a glowing icon. “I’m taking Hayashi and Finlay to the location of the last transmission, which is the engineering and mech bay. At the end is a vehicle bay for EVAC, so we’ll account for assets there too.” He highlighted the area off to one side of the sprawling habitat.

  “Big fucking place for twenty scientists,” Lau said.

  “They intended it to house a lot more once mining commenced,” Capstan said. “So it’s going to take a while to cover everything.” He zoomed out. “Malik, Lau, you two head north and start checking each of the sleeping quarters and lounges.” He blipped a collection of about two dozen rooms along the northern edge of the centre. “Report as you go. Then work your way back towards the Command and Control centre, where we’ll all regroup.” A central room blinked.

  “Hai,” Lau said and peeled off, Malik jogging alongside.

  “Sterns, Collins and Watts, you three need to go west and search the labs.” A collection of six large rooms flashed three times.

  Without waiting for a reply, Capstan hustled away to the right, with Hayashi and Finlay on his heels. Collins turned to his companions. “Ladies, after you.” He gestured to his left.

  Watts laughed. “Fuck you, soldier.”

  “I’ll take point,” Sterns said. “You two can enjoy my ass as we go.”

  Collins grinned. He most certainly would. And so would Watts for that matter. Though bonds throughout their squad were tighter than family, it was Henna who touched him most deeply, and he knew he was not alone. Sterns was a little bit mother and a little bit lover to most of them. And probably the most deadly when shit went down.

  Watts nudged him with her rifle butt. “Wipe the grin off and focus, dickwad.”

  Collins winked at her. “I’ll bring up the rear.”

  “Sure you will.”

  They moved forward, heavy assault rifles cradled ready, scanning as they went.

  “It’s too quiet,” Sterns said.

  “We know they’re here somewhere,” Collins said.

  The corridor led to a large double door that hissed open as they approached. A lab lay beyond, all manner of survey equipment and data stations. Lights flashed, information rolled through holo-displays, everything looked normal. Except for the lack of surveyors. Collins approached one desk and leaned over to look at a coffee mug, still half full with black liquid. He blinked up his helmet scanner and it confirmed filter coffee, now long cold.

  Watts gestured to a series of large tanks along one side. “What the fuck are they doing in a mining survey station?”

  “What are they?” Collins asked. Pale blue liquid rippled in each one, shimmering under bright lights embedded in the top. Each could easily fit three large men.

  “Uterotanks,” Watts said, eyebrows knitted. When the others gave her blank looks, she said, “Breeding tanks.”

  “For what?”

  The medic shrugged. “No idea. But I’ve never seen them that big before.”

  “Well, doesn’t that just bode all kinds of good,” Sterns said. “Let’s spread out, search the room.”

  They moved apart, helmet scanners processing reams of data as they let their eyes rove for anything that might be a clue.

  “Here,” Watts said. She pointed with the barrel of her weapon.

  A chair was pushed out from under a desk, the seat and the floor around it smeared with blood. Scarlet drops sprayed across the desk and holo emitters. Watts stood back, hands raised as though framing up a photograph. They waited while she used her scans, then she said, “Best guess is a heavy blow to the back of the head, then another across the face.” She mimed the actions, indicating the direction of blood spatter. “The victim fell here and was dragged a short way.” The smears ended only a metre or so from the desk.

  “Then what?” Sterns asked.

  Watts shrugged.

  “Picked up and carried off?” Collins suggested, his stomach tight.

  “Maybe,” Watts said. “But there’s no more blood. Someone doesn’t just stop bleeding when they’re carried.”

  “Maybe they got wrapped up.”

  “Again here,” Sterns said from across the room.

  A similar pattern covered more equipment.

  “When I was growing up,” Sterns said, “my father used to tell this story about the draugen. It was an old-fashioned monster story, you know, a kind of Norwegian ghost or bogeyman. Bullshit designed to scare us. He used to say, ‘Henna, if you don’t behave, the draugen will come to get you!’ I always thought that was an asshole way to make your kids do the right thing.”

  Collins had seen Henna take out an enemy squad single-handed while he was close to bleeding out. Then she had carried him back in. But in that moment he felt strangely protective of her.

  “That’s fucked up,” Watts agreed. “But what’s your point.”

  Sterns turned to face them with a grin. “I’m thinking maybe the bogeyman lives on Calliope, not Norway.”

  Collins was about to suggest they move on to the next lab when Sterns suddenly arched forward. A hole twenty centimetres across appeared in her chest, blood spraying forward as her ribs angled out like reaching bony fingers. She looked down in surprise, uttering a quiet, “Oh.” The desk behind her was clearly visible through the hole, then she collapsed.

  “The fuck?” Watts screamed, rushing over.

  “Scan the fucking room!” Collins shouted. Not Henna. No, no, no, not Henna!

  He crouched, moved in a circle looking for the source of the attack, but the lab was unchanged. There had been no muzzle flash, no sound. He quickly rewound the footage recorded in his HUD and watched again, playing close attention to Sterns. Nothing anywhere around her, then she launched forward, her chest exploded. Oh. She dropped.

  Watts crouched beside the fallen marine shaking her head. “Dead before she hit the ground. Fuck. Henna!” As she rose to face Col
lins, she staggered to one side, then screamed as her left arm fell, sheared off at the shoulder. She sat down hard, blood arcing from the gaping wound. She scrambled for a patch can and frantically sprayed fast-expanding foam across the injury.

  Collins began cycling through light bands. He swept his gaze left and right, looking through infra-red, microwave, gamma, ultraviolet, around and around, his vision a kaleidoscope of changing images, looking for anything that might be a source of the attack. Then movement. Subtle, almost immediately ceased. Without giving himself away, moving only his eyes, he looked back into the corner of the lab. Under the arm of some strange mechanism like a giant dentist’s light, something stood stock still. Visible only in ultraviolet, it was a shape made of mirrors, quicksilver. No discernible features or details.

  Collins raised his weapon and it came directly for him. Bigger than a man, it seemed to project itself forward on four pounding legs that thrust vertically up and down against the floor without a sound. Four more upper limbs stretched out, reaching for him, each ending in a long hand of three blade-like fingers. Its head was a flat wedge, arrowing forward.

  Collins fired, his finger grinding against the trigger on full auto. The weapon barked deafening projectile death and gouts of fire, ripping into the creature. It staggered back, the wedge head splitting open as though it were screaming in agony, but still it made no sound. With less than five meters between them, Collins thumbed a mini-grenade from the barrel-mounted launcher and it exploded against the thing’s torso, threw it back into the corner where it lay still. Collins staggered under the shockwave, but kept his feet.

  “Lieutenant, everyone, we have aliens here!” he yelled over a squad-wide waveband. “Use ultraviolet!”

  There was no reply. No blips marked their positions on HUD. He realised he hadn’t seen their blips for a while. How long?

  “Lieutenant?” Nothing. “Daisy?” Nothing. “Fuck.” Collins hurried over to Watts, turning slow circles as he went, scanning everywhere.